


she can't be what you need if she's seventeen

by girlwiththeradishearrings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fingerfucking, Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, idk?, when drive-ins still existed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwiththeradishearrings/pseuds/girlwiththeradishearrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery and Sansa get caught up behind the snack bar at the drive-in. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she can't be what you need if she's seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Girls" by The 1975
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes... I wrote this late?

The milkshake slipped from her fingers like an afterthought, as if Sansa had forgotten to be surprised.

The brick wall cradled her shoulder blades as Marg eased their bodies together. Sansa’s hips jutted forward of their own accord, the hem of her skirt brushing up between their thighs. Margaery’s polished nails carved half-moons behind Sansa’s ear and she smirked at her display of eagerness.

(Marg’s lips tasted like sweet cola. She drank it straight out of the bottle, Sansa knew. She’d watched the older girl sipping soda before, observed as her pert rosebud mouth propped itself against the rim of the bottle and drank deep and slow. Catching Sansa’s stare, Margaery had just teased her mouth into a smile, as if she’d just heard the most _marvelous_ secret.)

Marg’s lips were ravenous and warm against Sansa’s, parting her mouth and drinking in the younger girl’s gasps. She relished Sansa’s chastity, thought her innocence the most delicious thing her tongue could taste.

Sansa felt the other girl’s fingers raking playfully against her scalp while her free hand wrapped around Sansa’s waist, scrunching up her cardigan.

Sansa’s right sock was soaking up milkshake, her toes squelching in her shoes.

Marg’s hand tugged lightly at a lock of hair. Breath hitching, Sansa tipped her head back, allowing Margaery prime access to her throat. Working her way down Sansa’s neck in a leisurely, sultry trail, Marg’s lips sucked pink blooms along her skin. She nipped at Sansa’s pulse in a delectable display of provocation, tongue flickering between each languid kiss. Could Margaery feel how hard her heart was thrashing? 

Sansa felt nails scrape urgently into her lower back, tentatively manipulating their way up Sansa’s spine. Pressuring her head and neck into the cold brick, Sansa arched her entire body off the wall, grinding the sharp points of her pelvic bones into Marg’s waist.

The older girl breathed a laugh into Sansa’s ear, fingers untangling themselves from the auburn tresses, only to slither their way down her shoulder blades to Sansa’s lower back. Marg’s fingers teased the waistband of her skirt, slipping down and fingering the silk of her underwear. Sansa’s back felt flayed and hot with each taunting grope of Marg’s fingers, sweat trickling down the notches of her spine, dipping along with the arch of her back.

“My pretty little kitten. I love it when you get like this,” Marg hummed into Sansa’s ear, nuzzling her face to the wall. The brick was cool and solid against her temple, and Sansa crooked her head to accommodate Margaery’s mouth along her jaw. Sansa’s cheekbone ground sharply against the brick and the twinge of pain was a pleasant contrast to the heat budding in her abdomen.

“Like what?” Sansa inquired in a breathy tone, eyelids fluttering softly. The pins in her hair struggled to restrain her sanguine waves and strands fell in a damp flurry about her face. Margaery had tousled them so carelessly… what would everyone think?

The forgotten milkshake had pooled at their feet, leaking treacherously into their shoes and swirling in a creamy brown puddle on the pavement, congealing with scattered articles of snack bar food. Sansa could barely smell the grease from the fryers, Margaery’s tangy scent was so prominent.

“All sweet and needy, my pretty pet…. Like you want me,” Marg tweaked Sansa’s earlobe in between her teeth, causing the younger girl to yelp. This only fed Margaery’s amusement. She was always generous with the redhead, seeking out Sansa’s pleasure before her own. The elder girl loved to watch her wind up like a doll—loved seeing her face flush with such ripe heat, cooing sweetly, teetering on the edge--before she finally baited out her release.

“I do,” Sansa’s peeped in between shallow breaths.

“Oh, yeah?” Marg offered slyly, nose burrowed in the girl’s hair, tongue darting out to taste the sweat on her neck.

Snaking her hand from Sansa’s skirt, Marg danced her greedy hand to Sansa’s arse, knotting her fingers into the soft curvature of her bottom. The fabric of the skirt hiked up with an agonizing lethargy. Marg felt Sansa tremble beneath her palm. The youth goaded Margaery to continue as she pressed the length of her body onto Marg’s. The older girl resisted a groan.

Sansa’s pleaded with a rapid jaunting of her hips. Hot breath unfurled from her swollen, pink lips like a swath of white cloth before disintegrating into the evening air. “I want you, please--Marg, _I want you_ ,” she crooned in desperation.

Irresistible. That’s what Sansa was. _Goddamn irresistible_.

Marg could pretend to dominate her, but every time they found each other coupled together, secluded away in some dark corner, hot and wanting… she was always at Sansa’s mercy.

So she relented. She always did, as was her custom.

Her fingers fastened beneath the pleats of Sansa’s skirt and toiled round the camber of her ass, lightly stroking the moistened fabric covering her heat. Sansa keened, shoving her shoulders against the brick wall while bucking into Marg’s hand. “That’s my girl, my lovely girl,” Marg praised, smiling. The slick wetness has seeped down Sansa’s thighs and Marg can feel herself throbbing in response. Taunting the wet silk aside, Marg dips two fingers along Sansa’s cleft, relishing in the girl’s stifled whine. Marg toys briefly with Sansa’s entrance before pressuring her fingers forwards to her clit. Sansa grabs Margaery’s waist, nails driving into skin, pulling her closer, their bodies damp and humming.

Taking her time, Margeary can feel the tension of Sansa’s body as she brushes the epicenter of her pleasure, selfishly wanting to hear the deepening of breath and heaving of the younger girl’s chest. Sansa had pitched her thigh up along Marg’s hip, allowing her a greater access, and had entwined her free hand into Marg’s wild abundance of curls.

Milkshake gurgled beneath the soles of their shoes, wafts of the chocolate syrup filling the air around them.

Sansa reciprocated each sweet brush of her clit with a relieved sigh and the biting hiss of fingernails into Maergaery’s scalp.

Bracing the wall with a shaky hand, Sansa swallowed feeble breaths and coudldn’t seem to curb the pulsing of her cunt. She knew they should be getting back… the movie must have been half way through by now…. The others would be waiting. What would they even say? What could they come up with to make—“ _Ooh_ ,” Sansa sucked in a tight stich of air, nails scratching some frenzied design into the brick at her back. “Oh, God, Marg—Hmm—that’s… good, yes— _please_ …” She should be embarrassed by the urgency in her own voice, but the other girl’s fingers pressing into her so viciously, so precisely….

Her thighs spasm and Sansa leans on Marg to steady herself as the muscles in her legs also begin quiver and tighten. Her abdomen ripples and Margaery can sense Sansa’s building release. “Come on, love, that’s it… come for me…” The lust in her words is palpable as she ushers them into the shell of Sansa’s ear. They are her undoing.

Racking waves of pleasure reign over the muscles in Sansa’s taut little body and she convulses in her relief. Sedated breathing proceeds and the tangled curls of Marg’s hair shudder with each expelling of breath. “Oh, little pet… I believe you did want me.”


End file.
